


The Woman I've become

by seraphim_grace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Crossdressing Kink, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Rimming, cross dressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-01
Updated: 2011-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:10:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphim_grace/pseuds/seraphim_grace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean angers some witches, Castiel doesn't notice.</p><p>Or the one in which witches think it's funny to dress dean up in drag and send him on a booty call</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Woman I've become

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song Plus ca change by The Uncle Devil Show about crossdressing - title from Wig in a Box from the musical Hedwig and the Angry Inch

Dean hates witches. He's met evil ones, helpful ones, and the vast majority wearing velvet dresses and ugly necklaces. He is not opposed to magic, per se, or even the concept of dancing naked in the moonlight it's just -- well -- it'll just comes out worse on his end. The stereotypical daemon worshipping witch who doesn't know better-- that always ends in tears. The cliched teenage witch who never looks like Sabrina and whose mom is convinced she's smoking pot because of the burning herbs. There's your middle aged well meaning witch, and now he's discovered, there's your Italian witch who battles dark spirits to bring the spring. Of all the magic he has run across this is one of the least far-fetched.

They are good women, ranging from prepubescent to elderly and he knows that the cream they gave him will help reduce the swelling. That unfortunately is where his good humour ends.

Dean hates witches.

These witches have fed him and his brother some of the best lasagna he has ever eaten with fresh garlic bread. They flirted with him good-naturedly not intending to take it any further. They are more interested in Sam for that. In fact if Sam doesn't end up in bed with at least four of them, the ones ranging from legal to married, Dean is going to disown him.

The case went entirely to plan. That on its own was worth mentioning. They invited the three of them back to their coven house,with the middle-aged Merry widow hanging on Bobby like a limpet. There had been wine. A lot of wine.

There had been black hair caught in lamplight, there had been wonderful cleavages, and skin like taffy. There may have been an inappropriate comment or two -- which Sam had found hilarious loudly braying that no one appreciated female beauty like a gay man. At least one of them had been disappointed. They had explicitly spoken of the natural power of orgies.

Sam had laughed even louder and then decided to tell them all about Castiel, and how his brother mooned over him. He used the term eye-fucking. He also said that it was Dean's longest relationship and was coming up to 3 years now.

Thwarted by his brother on any hope of getting into the orgy that the witches clearly had planned Dean reacted badly. He made several leering gestures towards what he had not realised was their leader. The witches, who called themselves the Benedanti, reacted much the way that one would expect a large group of powerful women to react = badly.

That was when the night got blurry.

He really isn't sure what happened next until he is opening the door to a hotel room. This is his first cause for alarm as he knows for a fact that he and his brother had booked into a motel ground floor room. The second is what he was wearing. It was not enough For the witches to dress him up for what was clearly a Booty call, as well he was dressed like a woman. And not a very attractive one that. The blouse has a kitten tie and was some sort of shiny white polyester material that he has never encountered before. The skirt is knee length and lined because it is made of some kind of fabric that felt like it had been woven roughly from camel hair and barbed wire. The pantyhose are constricting and make his legs feel naked but the shoes are attractive and he wondered where they had gotten a pair of classic t-bar heels in his size at that time of night drunk as they had obviously been.

He knows he doesn't look like a woman, or even a drag queen, just a man in some very unattractive women's clothes.

He just hopes that whoever is in the hotel room will appreciate the rant and let him leave.

Castiel is sat on the edge of the bed with the remote control in his hand pushing buttons. It isn't making the tv work, Dean could see that much. "I believe," he says turning, "that it is broken."

Castiel doesn't actually care that Dean is dressed like a woman, he probably can't even see the inappropriate nature of it. It is just Dean and Dean just sniggers and takes the remote from him, checking the batteries.

"You smell different," Cas says and leans in, taking a deep breath of him and Dean can sort of excuse it if his knees wobble a bit because the shoes are kinda high even if they are a practical wedge heel and not a spike. Cas is scenting him, breathing him in and holding him in his lungs. "And you appear to be wearing cosmetics."

Oh damn they didn't, but when he licks his lips they taste strange and sort of waxy- oh yes they did. "Your lips are the colour they are when you are aroused and your eyes are darker. Are you aroused?"

Well he wasn't but now he's not so sure. He's kinda wondering if that tightness around his chest is embarrassment or a bra. He's wondering if it's plain tee shirt cotton, or lace, or satin or silk. He's suddenly curious about whether they gave him panties, practical or luscious. He knows that whatever he's wearing under the skirt it's starting to get uncomfortable.

And because he's standing in front of Cas, because Cas is sitting on the edge of the bed, Cas leans in and places his face against Dean's crotch and takes deep huffing breaths through his nose, and Dean knows the angel's senses are sharper, brighter so he can smell soap and perfume and arousal and warm nylon and the fabric of this god awful grey skirt is rough against Cas' face like stubble and Dean stumbles again.

"This excites you." Cas says blankly in his angel voice. "You like being dressed like this." It isn't a question and his voice is that low commanding gravel and Dean is kinda gone and he knows it's entirely the witches here because this isn't his thing, sure the odd pair of panties because well, they just feel that nice, they're so much softer than what men wear, but this....

And Cas slips his hands up under the skirt, under the synthetic lining to cup his thighs in his hands, and Dean doesn't feel feminine, he doesn't want to bat his lashes, which he suspects have been mascaraed, but he does bite at his lower lip and scrapes some of the lipstick into his mouth, part of him even wonders if it's cruelty free and for some sake that just makes the way Cas is looking at him hotter.

And Cas doesn't care if he's wearing men's clothes or women's, or hell, is dressed like Superman because he's Cas. He sees Dean wearing these clothes and sees how his reaction to the sensations, to the drag of the white synthetic blouse over his abdomen, above the tight waist of his ugly skirt, makes the muscles there quiver.

He thinks he's going to buckle, the shoes are hard to walk in, but Cas is holding him upright, face level with his groin and there are too many layers of clothes in the way. He wants Cas to bury his face in the hair there, in the skin, and the sweat and just take those sucking deep breaths.

It's so much more intimate, Dean can't help but think, those deep sucking breaths, because he holds him in, than just taking him in his mouth, although Dean really wants him to do that right now, but the way he drags him inside his body, the way he holds him there.

And Dean's fingers are against his own mouth, skimming the surface which is hot, too hot, electrified and he can't help the way his teeth reach for the knuckle and all Cas has done is put his hands on his thighs and breathe and Dean's so turned on he thinks he might burst. And all Cas is doing is breathing him.

Dean feels transparent, like he's fading into nothing and it's only the coldness of the blouse, the scratchy heat of the skirt, the burning of Cas's hands that are keeping him anchored. He's talking but he can't really make head nor tail of what he's saying, just imploring, pleading that Cas keep doing what he's doing.

Cas kisses the skirt over the crotch, a quick press of lips and closed eyes and Dean is fucking wailing, begging, and he knows it's the witches, they've whammied him somehow. He's asking Cas to kill him, to eat him, to make him into a stew and serve him up for breakfast lunch and dinner. He wants Cas to burn him and breathe him in as smoke that will linger in his hair. He wants him to drain his blood and use it to replace Cas' own. He wants to give Cas his heart so he'll know how it beats for him, how it bleeds for him, and Cas is softly murmuring acknowledgement, perhaps praise, into the scratchy wool of this skirt.

Cas uses his wrists to ruck the fabric up in slow painful jerks, to bunch it around Dean's waist, to lean in closer for more of the smell of him, and Dean's cock is pressed against his stomach and the panties are almost soaked and the pantyhose are just tight enough and Cas chuckles and Dean's surprised he doesn't come. "You like these clothes." Cas says and Dean wails.

His hand is hot through the synthetic fabric of the blouse, that ugly shapeless blouse that makes his shoulder's look broader, his waist thicker, his arms fat and then he places those soft dry lips of his against the fabric over his abdomen and Deans' stomach lurches with an exclamation of fuck. He's not been this hair triggered since he was fourteen.

One hand is holding Dean's back, the other Cas has scratching at the seam of the pantyhose in his crack, and he is wearing panties, white practical panties and the panty hose is black and there is black nail polish on his fingers and Cas is just scratching and breathing and mouthing the fabric over his stomach and the kitten tie is too tight, he can't breathe, breathe, but he's making the strangest noises, gasping and choking and making promises, begging for the strangest things and Cas holds him as he bucks and jerks and comes.

He drops into a squat, more because he can't stand than any other reason and his face flops against the fabric of Cas' slacks and he can't catch his breath. His mind is utterly absent. His hands are fumbling at Cas' fly, and his fingers look so fat with the polish, and unwieldy. The black just makes his skin look richer, darker, and he can smell Cas' arousal and he wants, he wants nothing more than to let Cas fuck his mouth, just hold his head in place and thrust and they've never done that, he's never wanted to. There's always been control, a modicum of distance but right now Dean doesn't care. He wants Cas to use him. He wants Cas to take his pleasure from him. If he had wit he'd blame the whammy but at the moment he just doesn't care.

In his hand Cas' cock is huge and dark, Cas' paler skin flushed almost purple in the electric light against Dean's own more golden skin tone. And Dean knows he's drooling, he can't really help it. God, he's never been so eager for this, for Dean to wrap his fist about it, black bitten fingernails and sweaty hot palms, and dart his tongue between lips stained by the lipstick that's long gone, swollen from his own teeth and need, and not Cas' kisses, dart out a tongue that's obscenely pink and just catch the skin enough to pull.

His skirt is around his hips and he's squatting in the heels and the muscles in his thighs are tugging and that's delicious too, and the panties are tight against his balls, which are too sensitive and he lowers his head, not taking Cas into his mouth just yet, but rather butting the head against the softness of the inside of his cheek. He's grunting and slobbering and there is no delicacy in this, no skill, just want and the taste of him, ocean sour and salty, hard and hot in his mouth, and he has to be using his teeth, he can't stop it and he flops about with his spare hand, the one that he thinks was squeezing Cas' thigh, it's hard to tell, harder to remember, and puts Cas' hands on his head, lets him slide his fingers through the short blonde hair - they hadn't bothered with a wig - and clutch and control him as he tries to take Cas into his throat, making a pillow of his tongue, the saliva forming wet pools in Cas' pubic hair, and the smell of him as he takes ragged gulps of air through his nose and he's choking, as Cas bumps the back of his throat, and damn if that just doesn't make him harder.

He's grinding against the pantyhose and they're not giving and he needs to use his hands to keep his balance as Cas starts to lurch into his mouth and he's so hot and wet because Dean can't stop slobbering all over him and he's grunting and making wet smacking noises as he drags his mouth up over the flared tip, and Cas' cock is aubergine purple, almost the same colour as his nail polish and fuck that's hot.

And there's enough of Cas left on his tongue that when he sucks in air, gasping like he's drowning over the head, he can still taste him and he groans and just rocks further into the panty hose like some sort of demented ballet dancer and his thighs are going to hate him in the morning, but Cas has just slipped his hand into the gape of the waistband at the back and lifted him, fingers holding the fabric, both layers up, and Dean doesn't want to stop. He wants to keep this cock in his mouth because he's never been so damn hungry for it before and how could he not have been, because the blouse is cool against his skin, and he has to be wearing a bra, he has to, and the kitten tie is too tight, almost choking and his chin is sopping wet as Cas pulls him away, Dean finally giving into the inevitable pulling his lips away with an obscene pop, and is thrown over the bed, ass in the air, feet as flat on the carpet as the heels will allow.

"I want," Castiel says and damn him his voice is still as cool as it ever is, "will you receive me? My tongue, my fingers, my," he stops, licks his lips, "cock," and uses Dean's word.

Dean's head thrashes against the comforter. Cas tugs down the pantyhose first, pulls them down to Dean's knee, places his face against the cotton of his panties, and takes another of those overwhelming breaths, then mouths him against the cotton. "You smell so good." And Dean bites back the wail, then using his palms, hot and dry and calloused, he tugs apart the cheeks of Dean's ass and uses his tongue to press the fabric against the pucker of his ass.

The panties are sopping wet with sweat and come and Cas has to be able to taste that, as he presses the fabric in with a speared tongue and Dean wails. "Oh fuck," he manages through the noise, "oh fuck, fuck, fuck," Cas laughs and the fabric almost billows where it's so wet and Cas' breath is hot and he's breathing him in, pulling him in with breath and tongue and lips and "oh fuck more, more, fuck me, more!" Cas doesn't pull the panties down, just tugs the fabric to the side, looks at the muscle, pink and flexing, opening and closing on it's own as it tries to tug him in, to consume him. He does not deny it. He runs his tongue the length of Dean from the tug of his balls to his back with a single swipe, his tongue drying and it growing raspy half way through and Dean just wails again.

Cas tugs on his scrotum to slow him down. "Easy," he murmurs into the skin and hair, "easy," but Dean doesn't want easy, he wants more and harder and he thinks he might be saying these things, and he's rocking and the bra and the blouse are tugging on his skin, lace against his nipples in soft scratches, against the comforter, and the kitten tie is too tight, he can't breathe, he can't think, there are stars in front of his eyes and Cas is spearing his tongue then laving the muscle. He might be saying something but he doesn't know, he can't spread his legs anymore, the pantyhose are there but he wants to, oh god he wants to, he wants more, he wants it all, he wants everything. Cas pushes his fingers into Dean's mouth and Dean sucks, wets them for all he's worth, even with the painful tug against the side of his mouth and Cas has his other hand on Dean's hip and is trying to hold him still but his tongue, oh god his tongue and his breath and the noises he's making, the grunts, the the gasps, the dry chuckles and the wet slaps of it.

The lubricant, when it comes, is cold, smeared in place by Cas' tongue and Dean wails again, howling like a banshee and his head is thrashing and it's too much, and the panties are still there, still against his cock which is almost sore with the heat and the comforter isn't enough friction, he can't come again, not so soon but he wants to, he can't breathe, he's going to black out, he knows it and he doesn't care.

Cas is rimming him with the lubricant.

His finger is blunt when it comes, just to the first knuckle, there alongside his tongue which is so soft in comparison, and the lubricant is cool and he can feel his fingernail, the swell of his knuckle and he wants, he wants Cas to devour him, to kill him and make a stew of him so he can be everything Cas needs and he might be saying it, even though it's fucked up and disturbing and he wants Cas to open his ass so wide that he can crawl up and live inside him and fill him up with his semen. He wants him to push those fingers inside so far he can taste it in his throat. He wants Cas to just slick himself up and push in and not bother with stretching because he can't take much more and Cas just leaves his finger there.

Cas mouths the skin at the small of his back, making wet noises and then sucking red marks on the skin, biting as his cheek rubs against the skirt, and Dean can feel the gap between panties and the lining but also Cas's cheek and the stubble there and Cas' finger is pushed inside, and he feels full, there's a pleasant burn, his nipples feel raw, his throat is going to look like he's been strangled. He's saying something, he knows it, he can feel it between great big sucking breaths that taste of lust and fabric conditioner where his face is pressed against the comforter.

He knows Cas' cock is there, heavy and hot and sticky from his mouth, the taste of it still on his tongue as he reaches out, his hands useless in this position. He knows there is a litany of fuck there and Cas doesn't do more, he doesnt' push his finger in, he doesn't twist it or pull, or bend it looking for his prostrate. He just leaves it there and it's that much worse as he covers him with his body, and he's still clothed, still wearing his jacket, and bites down on the back of Dean's neck, at the apex of his spine, like he's about to carry him off to his lair and it's all Dean can do not to come just then.

And Cas knows it.

"Will you receive me?" And damn but his voice is ragged and Dean isn't nearly stretched enough, he's going to feel this for weeks and he wants to. He wants Cas to pull apart the flimsy cotton of these practical panties and push in, to treat him like a woman, like a whore, like he doesn't care and Dean thinks he might be saying it, he might, he doesn't know, he just knows it's so fucking hot, and then Cas tugs out his finger and the head of his cock is blunt against his ass, and he rocks, not pushing in, just rubbing against the muscle and Dean is wailing again, cursing, sucking in air like he's drowning and trying to push back, trying to force him inside, trying for more, for anything, other than the tight, painful grip on his hips.

"Yes!" Dean hollers, "yes, oh god, oh fuck yes" and Castiel pushes in, just to the head, and it burns, oh god it burns, not enough stretching and never enough lube for this, but Cas is slow, and Dean is begging, he's sure of it but Cas is so slow, so patient, one hand clutching his hip bone the other on the flat of his back to hold him still, to try and control the pace so Dean lasts longer than a few seconds.

And Cas is so hot inside him, and big, and hot, and he can't think, can't breathe, and the fucking blouse is choking him and Cas just pushes in a little further. Dean wants to pull it away, to take it off, but his hands just seem to make the tie tighter and he is struggling to breathe. "Hold, Dean, hold, I want you to hold." And Dean wants to, but Cas is fire hot inside him, pushing further, slowly, so slowly, and then the hand from his back is gone, grabbing at his wrists because he's clutching at his throat, and holding them in place. Cas pins him with his hips and tears open the blouse and the rush of air is sweet and intoxicating, "hold," Cas whispers in his ear and even his breath is hot, "hold."

"Bite me." And Dean doesn't know if it's a denial of what Cas is asking, or he wants him to bite him.

Cas closes his teeth on the scruff of his neck and bites down, like he is going to kill him and fuck that shouldnt send another thrill to his cock, and he's glad he hair triggered because it means he can hold, but his panties are wet and the pantyhose are holding his knees together even as he tries, tries, tries, to tilt his hips up, to give more of himself to Cas, to give him everything, to rock into him.

Cas pulls out with a long dry slide, Dean can hear the cap of the slick and then Cas is pushing in again, cold and wet and so good, and he's losing his mind, and the more air just makes it harder to breathe, he still can't think, can't catch his breath. "Come for me," Cas says on the upstroke, "come for me." And Dean can't help it, the panties are just tugged to the side, not pulled down, not removed, and the fabric twitching against Cas' hips is just enough, just, not enough and Dean is convulsing, slamming his ass back, wanting more though he's not ready for it, not nearly, forcing Cas to go faster, harder and he's coming and he can feel it in his ass as Cas grunts against the clenching he knows is happening, the way Dean's legs can't support him but in this position he can't wrap them around Cas' waist. The orgasm leaves him mindless, "Come in me," he says, "come on me."

Cas pulls out and with a few jerking thrusts of his hand, that Dean wants to watch but can't, can't control his body enough to even flop over as Cas comes across the skin of his back, against the scratchy skirt, the ugly synthetic blouse, the back of the bra. Dean can feel it on his neck and land in hot spurts in his hair and he's still high enough, hazy enough, that it's just hot.

When he's done Cas collapses onto him, pressing him to the mattress as Dean's legs give way and he stumbles to his knees, taking the two of them off the bed unto the carpet. "Fuck," he says and then kisses Cas because he has to, because Cas' mouth is so pink and soft and fuck he can taste himself on Cas, the sweat and the chemical tang of perfume and they're both boneless but there is part of Dean that thinks he could go again, could do this forever, but he can't quite make himself move.

"Fuck," Cas agrees, nuzzling against Dean's neck, against the skin that's raw from the blouse, the bite marks and the splashes of semen in his hair.

"Fucking witches." Dean slurs and the bed is a lifetime away, and Cas is so warm and firm where he needs him to be and it won't matter if he goes to sleep here, Cas can just tug down the comforter.

+++

Sam meets them at the diner walking like he's crapped his pants. He's suspiciously careful of how he sits down and winces when his ass hits the leather of the seat in the booth. Dean is ravenous, and as he checks his brother's neck for hickeys he's never been so glad of angelic healing. He's pretty sure he got the best deal out of that encounter with the witches.


End file.
